Martial Arts Tournament (5)
Martial Arts Tournament (5)
"You're hastening your fate!"
Tournament Killer roared, yanking the chain from his waist. His face twisted with fury as the iron weight at its end spun through the air with a menacing hiss, like a viper's rattle. Even from a distance, its speed and mass carried enough force to feel the wind.
He bellowed like a wild beast.
"No one has ever survived one of my strikes! Take this!"
The bastard grabbed the chain's midpoint, swung his arm in a wide arc, and launched the iron weight like a hidden weapon. It shot forward while still tethered to the chain, moving like a striking snake and gathering a black force that made it resemble a palm blast of inner power.
"Whoop!"
I jerked my head aside, and the chain weight tore through the air right past me. The chain swam before my eyes, twisting and coiling like a swift dragon.
At an ordinary level, I would never have dodged that blow. But after being endlessly battered by Sannyeo's kicks, a strike like this was nothing.
Tournament Killer scowled, and I sprang forward from my lowered stance. A kick attacks quickly and retracts just as fast, but a chain extended like this—while its single blow carries more power than a kick—is slow to retract.
If I charged in now, I could land a hit.
"Not a chance!"
Tournament Killer stamped down sharply with the tip of his foot. The dirt floor caved under a single kick, and clods of earth shot upward as if dug by a shovel.
"Agh!"
Earth erupted right before my eyes, blinding me. Unable to throw myself into the cloud of dirt, I had no choice but to pull back. Then the bastard came leaping out of the dust cloud instead—
"Die!"
—and swung a massive fist straight at my face.
Kwang!
I reflexively threw out my hands to block the punch, but the impact shuddered from my blocking arm through every bone, sending me sliding backward. The pain was so intense my head erupted in flames, but I couldn't show it. I clenched my teeth and fought to keep the agony from my expression.
Tournament Killer reeled in the iron weight he'd launched skyward and rushed at me again. The sight of him whirling that weight round and round was ferocious, and his pupils gleamed with the thrill of an opening.
I pulled one foot back and waited for him. I couldn't afford to show fear.
The moment he closed in, right up to my nose, reaching out as though he'd seized his chance, I stretched out my left hand, posed as if to draw a hand axe, and dropped my body as low as I could.
"...Heut!"
Tournament Killer, about to attack, instantly grimaced at the motion, halted his strike, and tried to widen the distance.
And I, still in that lowered stance, used the form of the Mount Tai Axe Technique to shoot forward and slam the axe in my right hand into his flank.
Kwang!
"Gaaaak!"
A strike from an unexpected direction, at an unexpected speed.
Tournament Killer had believed a hidden trick lay in my left hand and was utterly fooled by my feint.
Even as he screamed in agony, his eyes rolling back, the bastard took the hit, clenched his teeth, and drove his knee upward in a counterattack. Just when I thought I'd landed a solid blow, his knee smashed squarely into my face.
"Uwaaak!"
"Kkeuk!"
As he was knocked back, I tumbled across the arena.
*******
"...Impressive bastard."
Tournament Killer spoke, rubbing his side. I sniffled and stared at him. My head swam, and every breath tasted like blood. The rags he wore were torn, but beneath the ripped cloth, the wound on his flank was not deep.
In contrast, for the price of that one hit, I'd taken a fairly powerful blow myself.
Could I keep fighting like this?
Tournament Killer smiled as he spoke.
"Even now, get on your knees before me and say, 'I apologize for failing to recognize a great hero.'"
A pitiful threat. If I were weak enough to accept that kind of demand, I wouldn't have set foot on this stage in the first place. I spat on the ground and said,
"...You handle that iron weight so shoddily, it looks like the same toy you use to soothe the little brats at home."
Tournament Killer's face hardened once more.
"You've got a truly annoying mouth. I'll rip out every one of your teeth."
"Like this?"
I pulled my upper and lower lips tightly together, imitating a toothless old grandpa. Holding that face, I thrust my head forward and wobbled it from side to side. Tournament Killer's eyes bulged, and he roared.
"You bastard!"
He took another step forward. Swinging the iron weight with an ignorant clatter, this time he surged in on a diagonal. I heard the wind rush from a blind spot and moved on pure reflex.
Kwang!
The spot where I'd been standing exploded, and the iron weight soared skyward. Before I could even properly gauge its shape up there, the weight was sucked back into Tournament Killer's orbit. He settled into his stance with a triumphant expression, still swirling the iron weight through the air, his legs planted solidly at the center.
Even a rough glance made it obvious. If I entered his attack range now, his feet would nail me.
This was clearly his sure-win method. He hammered the ground with the iron weight at a speed the eye couldn't follow, chipping away at the opponent's stamina, and when the opponent could no longer endure and moved in, he linked up with his kick techniques to land the decisive blow.
What was I to do?
How could I win?
Could I even withstand that iron weight?
My head ached. Blood ran from my nose, and my arm trembled from the shock of that earlier block.
Realizing my body was weakening, the bastard wore an even smugger expression.
"Where has your momentum from a moment ago gone? Is this all the skill the Crimson Ring Sect Leader possesses? Farewell!"
Once more, an iron hailstorm lashed the ground. As I stepped back to evade the strike, clods of earth sprayed up and blocked my sight. Just my rotten luck. But I had no luxury for excuses.
"Shit!"
I shook my head and frantically used my hands to clear the dirt away. It was only an instant, but the gap when my sight was veiled was far too great.
By the time I shook my head and wiped the dirt from my eyes, Tournament Killer was wearing a broad grin and swinging the iron weight.
Which way had he swung it?
I hadn't been able to confirm his trajectory.
As I floundered, trying to locate his weight—
Kwang!
A fierce impact detonated at my side, and my body was lifted into the air.
"Keuk...!"
Along with a dizzying shock that knocked half my wits clean out, the world flipped over and over. The dirt floor rushed at me, then the sky appeared. I rolled and rolled until I was flung into a corner of the arena, close enough to hear the spectators' voices right beside me.
"Is it over?!"
"Has the match been decided? Did Docheol lose?"
"We don't know yet! The referee isn't making a declaration!"
I turned my head.
The referee was pretending not to see anything and was looking the other way. The match had been rigged from the start to kill me. Even if I became completely unable to continue, the referee wouldn't call an end until I was truly dead.
Every part of me throbbed. I tried to move my hand. It moved properly. I'd thought I took that hit completely defenselessly, but it seemed my inner energy had operated unconsciously and softened the impact to some degree.
That's how I'd endured training with Sannyeo, too. Whenever a dangerous attack came in, I had to unconsciously use inner energy to protect that area. If I didn't, I'd be left with bruises, and my body would scream at me all day long.
Tournament Killer's voice echoed faintly, like a distant sound.
"Euhahaha! The Crimson Ring Sect Leader is nothing special!"
The crowd's murmur mingled with Tournament Killer's laughter. In between, I distinctly heard the sound of the iron weight hurtling toward me. Before I'd even fully come to my senses, I rolled my body.
Kwang!
The iron weight dropped from the sky, aiming for the spot where I'd been lying.
"Uwaaak!"
"Aigo!"
Because I was right next to the spectator stands, the onlookers were showered with dirt and cried out. I shook the dust from my head and pulled myself up again. This had clearly been a strike lashed out with no thought of retraction, because the bastard simply stood there, the iron weight extended, staring straight at me.
"You're going to keep going? You'll never dodge it."
Tournament Killer said this, then yanked the iron weight back. Dragged across the ground, it produced an eerie sound.
"You won't even see the next attack coming."
I took a deep breath and straightened my stance.
I recalled the training I'd done with Sannyeo. As much as she had poured her effort into me, I had to show her something in return.
Only then would I earn the qualifications of a king who could command this martial world.
In my mind's eye, Sannyeo's figure appeared.
******
"I can't see a thing! Is this really an attack someone at my level is supposed to block?"
Tuk.
The next attack stopped just before it struck my arm. Sannyeo's sleek thigh straightened out in a perfect line.
She lowered her leg slowly, like a crane, then stepped back a pace and spoke.
"Focus your gaze. You can see it perfectly well. You just think the level is too high, so you can't see it. Think of it like this. It's no big deal."
The words were easy. Putting them into practice was hard. How was I supposed to see someone who anyone would view as an overwhelmingly superior master as beneath me?
Was that even possible?
After reading my expression, Sannyeo continued.
"Even if you can't do it, I'm going to keep training you at this intensity anyway. Even if it's unreasonable, there's no choice. Not every fight in the world is reasonable, right?"
She was right.
Even if I hated it, I had to do it. As she said, dying while making excuses when I met a master stronger than me would be too pathetic. In this martial world, there would be plenty of fights far more unreasonable than sparring with her. For all I knew, an unreasonable fight like that might be bearing down on me right before my eyes.
******
"Die!"
At Tournament Killer's command, the iron weight shot out once more, aimed dead center at my face. Having been bludgeoned once, my distracting thoughts seemed to vanish. I could see his trajectory clearly.
It was fast, but honest. A trajectory with no tricks—simply twisting my body would let me dodge it.
Tournament Killer reeled in the weight now suspended in midair. I ducked low to avoid it swooping in from behind and met his eyes again. His eyes widened, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and he started launching the iron weight once more. This time, it wouldn't end with a single strike.
As if intending to turn me into minced meat, he began wildly swinging the iron weight from every direction.
"Uaaaaaah!"
The iron weight began flying in at rapid speed, one salvo after another. As it hammered the ground like mad and grazed my cheek, his attacks grew even more ferocious. But they didn't reach me.
Compared to Sannyeo, he was far too slow. It didn't even feel like I was concentrating harder than usual, yet oddly my body moved on its own and dodged. The sense I had learned over such a long time was awakening, and it seemed to be moving my body for me automatically.
But even in this situation, my mind was racing.
I knew I couldn't hold out forever like this, and I knew that someday I would take a hit and collapse.
At a time like this, how was I supposed to strike back?
What was I to do?
The things I'd discussed with Sannyeo circled inside my head. Had I ever felt this sensation before? A kind of feeling where the answer hovered, shimmering, floating in my mind.
['Then use that at least. Apply it when fighting. The Golden Capturing Hand is such a great technique. Surprisingly, many who think they've mastered martial arts can't deal with the Capturing Hand.']
My left hand moved in empty air. I lethargically unfurled the form of that Golden Capturing Hand, the technique I had trained in like a madman for two years.
['Advancing by studying what kind of technique you need right now—isn't that the proper attitude of someone who studies and progresses in true martial arts?']
The bastard kept repeating the pattern: throw the iron weight, then reel it back in.
Those who tried to attack him would have mostly struggled to strike from below, where the iron weight couldn't reach.
That meant his kicking techniques had likely been drilled mainly to swat away charging opponents.
So in that case.
"Uyaaa!"
He shouted once more and hurled the iron weight.
I could see its trajectory. The attack aimed at my shoulder in that familiar manner—I twisted my foot and dodged it.
And at the same moment, I coiled my arm around his extended chain. Exactly as if I were pulling an opponent in with the Golden Capturing Hand, I clamped down hard and held firm.
Then, instead of bracing against him, I matched the motion of him pulling back his arm to retrieve the weight and threw myself at him with every ounce of my strength. Receiving both my own power and his, my body shot toward him at the speed of a cannonball.
"Oh."
I heard his lone, choked cry.
Faster than his leg could react. Faster even than his iron weight, my axe landed squarely between his eyebrows. Bearing down on his face with the axe loaded with all my strength, the sensation of his skull fracturing traveled all the way up to my shoulder.
The axe bit deep, and the bastard reeled. I, with my arm still wrapped in the chain, floated up into the air before landing back on the ground.
"A-ah...!"
He couldn't even scream properly.
I blinked and steadied my breathing.
In that moment, silence fell upon the world.
Kung!
Tournament Killer's massive frame toppled over and shattered the silence.